Sister Dear
by akittynamedpup
Summary: Life before and during the events of Moulin Rouge through the eyes of a man who did not have much to say, and wanted more than anything to protect his Sister. Rated T just in case later chapters have some content that may be mature.
1. Chapter 1

Sister Dear

There was nothing I could do, but watch her die in the arms of the man she loved. We may not have been related by blood, but the bond we shared was much thicker than water, blood, or anything else. There was so much I wished I had said to her, so much I wish I had done, but now there was nothing left.

We met years ago on the streets of Paris. I'm not quite sure of how old I was exactly, never knew my birth date, but I could not have been more than seven years old. My name was also as mysterious as my birth. The earliest memory I have was waking up one warm summer morning, alone and helpless and meeting her, the girl with the fiery hair and personality to match.

She never told me anything about her past, and I suspected she knew as much about it as I did my own, but it did not matter. We looked after each other, cared for each other. I called her Sister and she called me Brother, and for a while it was good. We managed to steal food from vendors every morning and when we had had our fill we would go and roam the city, swimming in the river, enjoying the seasonal festivals, and occasionally sneaking a peak inside the infamous Moulin Rouge.

Sister was always drawn to the bright colors and seductive music of the Moulin Rouge, and to be quite honest I never could picture her becoming anything other than a Moulin Rouge dancer. She definitely had the spirit for it. Of course in my youth I did not realize exactly what being a Cancan dancer would entail but I did know that they got to wear beautiful costumes and danced with the rich and famous men of Paris.

It was a rainy October morning and we had sought shelter under a large elephant that was part of the Moulin Rouge. We had just finished eating our soggy bread and were huddled together to protect ourselves from the chilly weather. As we looked out at the gray sky, Sister began to hum a simple melody. She did have the most beautiful voice, serene, gentle, and the slightest hint of yearning for something better, something more. It was that part of her voice that never changed.

"Brother, do you think we will ever find a true home?" she asked me as I shifted in her arms, trying to get myself more comfortable.

I looked up at her with curios eyes, and her own pensive blue ones met my deep brown ones, "Paris is our home, Sister," I replied not understanding what she meant.

She shook her head and smiled wryly, "I mean a _real_ home, with a father and a mother, and warm meals every day," She squeezed me tightly and continued, "Somewhere where we will be loved,"

I wanted to say that I loved her, and that we were each other's mother and father… That we had everything we could ever want here on the streets of Paris, but I knew that she would never be truly happy. I knew that was not all she wanted. She wanted more that just a family and love. Even though we were homeless children, she had bigger dreams in mind. She wanted to be known, she wanted people to envy her, and she wanted to just experience life. Sister was a gem hidden under muddy waters, and she longed to shine brightly for everyone to see. I knew this, so I kept silent. She couldn't fool me.

Little did we know that she was about to have everything she could have dreamed of, and that it still wouldn't make her happy.


	2. Chapter 2

What can I say about the man with the silly mustache and love of theatrics? He found us that morning under the elephant took us in and raised us as his own. He even gave us our names, Satine and Le Chocolat. We were only children, but Zidler taught us everything he could about the Moulin Rouge, just waiting for us to grow older and become his theatre puppets. Both Satine and I held a respect and disdain for this man, but he was the only father we had ever known, and he gave us the closest thing to love that we had ever felt from any adult.

It is strange to think about how it all started. It feels like I have lived two completely different lives. Satine and I did things in our new life that were questionable at best, but we had a family in the Moulin Rouge…

"Who might you two be little ones?" asked a man with a gruff voice.

Sister and I looked up at the strange man only to realize that he was _the _Harry Zidler, the man who ran the Moulin Rouge!

I kept my mouth shut, but Sister knew an opportunity when she saw one, "We, Monsier Zidler, are Moulin Rouge dancers," I bit my lip and I couldn't bring myself to look at her or Zidler. How could she say that? What was he going to do to us? There had been times when adults had whipped us for stealing, what was this Zidler going to do to us for trespassing on his property?

But he just laughed, "Oh really? Well now I suppose you two should not be out here shivering in the rain, but should be inside entertaining the powerful men of Paris!"

I will never forget my first real look inside the Moulin Rouge. It was more beautiful than anything I could have ever imagined. Everything was so over the top, so vibrant, and full of life. It felt as though I had found the fountain of youth, a small pocket of the world that felt eternal, and perfect. That would change with time, however, and as much as I would try to deny it in the future, I knew that this place was nothing more than a hell on Earth, where everyone grew old in a matter of minutes, and death lingered in the air. Death of innocence, of purity, and finally the death of my beloved sister, but I am getting ahead of myself.

I still remember the first night that Satine worked on the dance floor of the Moulin Rouge. I was not yet of age, well according to Zidler, so I had to be left behind in our room that was shared with all of the other children Zidler had found abandoned on the streets.

"Sister, do you have to go?" I asked pulling on the peacock feathers that adorned her rather elaborate costume that still managed to leave not much to the imagination.

"My name is Satine, and please stop pulling on my feathers, they are going to fall off if you keep that up," She bustled about packing up the last of her things before going to the dance hall where all the performances took place.

I pulled back, feeling like I had completely lost her. She was not my sister anymore. I watched as she put the last article of clothing in a box. Satine was to move to the dancers' room after tonight, and leave me with the other children for a little longer. She was on her way to stardom, as far as she was concerned, but I was not so sure.


End file.
